


The Games We Play

by eightofcoins



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Crossdressing, Date Night, Dress Up, F/M, Naoto is a smooth operator, Roleplay, Serious Business, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-25
Updated: 2012-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-31 17:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eightofcoins/pseuds/eightofcoins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Naoto Shirogane, P.I. has a new case, and wouldn't you know it, it's all because of a dame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Games We Play

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt**   
> _That was awesome! I loved every moment of it. But now, let's up the stakes! This time around, I want a fill with Souji/Yukiko, of a supposedly married innowner and a lecherous businessman, one with Souji/Rise, of an up and coming starlet and her producer, and **Souji/Naoto and a hardboiled detective and the femme fatale**. Of course, all consenual, like this one. Please, writer!anon, make it happen for me!_
> 
> <http://badx2bathhouse.livejournal.com/543.html?thread=735519#t735519>  
>  (filled at: <http://badx2bathhouse.livejournal.com/543.html?thread=750879#t750879>)

Quarter to midnight.  
  
Just when I was about to pack up for the night because I was out of cheap rye and the seedy bar below my drafty office was looking more comfortable than my empty bed, this dame walked in.  
  
She was a tall broad, with legs that stretched from Hell to Heaven, taking a quick stop in Limbo for her sheer black stockings to get on -- or off. Devil or angel? Hell, I’m no priest. I’ll let you decide.  
  
“Mister, I need your help,” she said without preamble, all honey and contralto.  
  
Damn. So much for the bar.  
  
Why would she think I could help her?  
  
Well, my name’s Shirogane. I’m a private eye. The muckrakers call me “The Detective Prince.” My friends call me Naoto. My enemies... Well, let’s just not say in front of polite company.  
  
I leaned back in my chair and kicked up my feet on top of the desk. “Yeah? What sort of help do you need, dollface? This ain’t a charity.”  
  
Big grey eyes stared into mine, grey as the fog that rolled in every few weeks in this town, low and heavy and miserable like that conscience of mine I just can’t seem to shake. Even before she opened her mouth again, I knew I was on the case.  
  
She dabbed those big grey eyes of hers with a white handkerchief, streaking it black with mascara until it looked like a miniature zebra hide. “My uncle’s gone missing, and with him went my inheritance. If I don’t find him soon, the landlord will kick me and my little cousin out onto the streets.”  
  
“Why don’t you try the cops? Or the lost-and-found?”  
  
“My uncle is on the force. A detective.”  
  
Figured. The dame’s uncle was probably on the take. Hell, the whole department was crooked in this town. That’s why I had quit.  
  
When I didn’t answer her, she fluttered her long eyelashes at me, tiny black whips that scored my shriveled heart. “Will you help me, Mr. Shirogane? I’ve got no one else to turn to. Please?”  
  
Broads. Always _in_ trouble. Nothing _but_ trouble.  
  
“Alright, enough with the sob story. What’s your name, anyhow?”  
  
“Sou-- Sorry, my name is Suzu Seta.”  
  
Bells. Superstitious gits would have called it Fate, or Fortune, or just plain Bad Luck. Of all the names this broad could’ve had, it was Suzu -- Bell -- and of all the private dicks she could’ve walked in on, it was Shirogane -- White Bell. If this had been some dimestore pulp, I’d have called it bad writing.  
  
In any case, I remembered my manners and decided to be a gentleman. Old habits, and all that.  
  
“Well then, Miss Seta.” I pointed over to the leather chair in front of my desk that once had been overstuffed, but had since gone on a crash diet. “Come take a load off here so I can get a better look at you.”  
  
Her first steps were shaky, like she didn’t wear black patent-leather high heels much, but in a flash she was slinking around like those dolls you find in the better Marseillaise dives, the ones who bring you old-fashioned absinthe and entertain you with new-fangled morals. Good girls gone bad somewhere, somehow, and without any regrets.  
  
Seeing her in the light of my desk lamp, I thought she looked like the sort of frail who could be all things to all people. I have to admit I envied her. You see, all I know how to do is sort out half-cocked stories, knock some heads in, and then let the boys in blue take all the credit. It’s a living.  
  
I also thought she was one helluva looker.  
  
Those big grey eyes I already told you about, but the curtains matched the windows, too. Long silver locks which curled at the bottom framed pale skin and high cheekbones and pouty lips. She had been a little heavy-handed with the mascara and eyeshadow and rouge and lipstick, which was a shame because a girl like her didn’t need it. Helen of Troy didn’t need to paint herself up for those thousand ships to launch, and neither did this dame.  
  
She must’ve caught me staring, because she smiled to herself like she just thought of the funniest joke in the world but didn’t want to share. Probably involved some gumshoe with his mouth open like a dead fish. I coughed a little.  
  
“Alright, I’ll take the case. Twenty bucks a day plus expenses.”  
  
“Yes, of course, Mr. Shirogane.”  
  
“Do you mind if I start in the morning, Miss? I like to start new cases after a good night’s sleep.” I smirked. “Never know when you can catch a few winks when you’re neck-deep in it.”  
  
“Whatever you think is best, Mr. Shirogane. And thank you,” she said, low and sincere. She moved to get up, but then froze on the seat. She pointed those big grey eyes at me again and got all misty. “Mr. Shirogane, can I ask you for a favor?”  
  
A shiver ran down my spine like when you hear a .45 cock behind your head. Worse, even. In this line of work, favors are usually deadlier than bullets.  
  
“What sort of favor, Miss?” I asked politely, and as soon as I did, I regretted not just throwing the dame out right then and there. I had already learned my lesson from a previous case, but apparently it didn’t take.  
  
“Mr. Shirogane, I’m not a forward sort of girl,” she lied easily, “but could I stay the night at your place? I’m afraid to go home.”  
  
“What’s got you so spooked?”  
  
“When my uncle left with my inheritance, he also left me his debts. Now some men are looking to collect, and since I have no money, I’m afraid they’ll... they’ll...” She looked down at herself and trembled.  
  
“You’re afraid they’ll take their pound of flesh from you? Make you work off what your uncle owes?” I guessed.  
  
For a pretty young dame like her, those louses would get top dollar. Hell, from the wrong sort of customer, she could earn enough to pay back any debt after one long, painful night.  
  
She hugged herself and nodded.  
  
“And what about your little cousin?”  
  
“She’s safe with friends in the countryside. For now.”  
  
“I see.” I sucked on a tooth. Awfully convenient place for a kid, but I didn’t press the issue.  
  
It was times like that when I really resented having been born a sap. You’d figure a professional snoop like me would know the score by now. It was a cliché. Set up: Pretty young dame comes to you with a sob story, wants to go home with you. Punchline: You get set up to be the patsy in some con, or she runs off with your money and your pride.  
  
 _What the hell,_ I figured. In all these years, I still wasn’t tired of that joke, no matter how many times it had been played on me.  
  
“Fine, Miss, you can stay with me. But just for tonight. And don’t expect a night at the Ritz.”  
  
“Mr. Shirogane, I can never thank you enough,” she said, looking like a vixen in a chicken coop. “Thank you.”  
  
I gulped, then tugged my cap tighter onto my head. I got up to escort her out of my office, and she slipped an arm around mine. In the other hand, she held onto a small black clutch. She wore white satin elbow-length opera gloves.  
  
I didn’t bother locking up. In this business, the sort of goon who would want to break in isn’t much fazed by locks. Or doors, for that matter.  
  
My place isn’t far from my office, so we hoofed it. Since it was cold that moonless night, I draped my suit jacket over the dame’s bare shoulders. Aside from the heels and stockings and gloves, all she was wearing was this ankle-length backless red silk gown that was doing a heroic job of clinging to her sleek curves without bursting at the seams. It was slit up high enough so that I could catch an eyeful of leg from toe to black garter strap each time she stepped. For the life of me, I never understand how broads can show so much skin without turning into Topsicles.  
  
There wasn’t any chit-chat, which I appreciated. Some broads will chew your ear off given half a chance. Take this canary I know, Kujikawa -- Risette to her adoring fans. Cute as a bug’s ear. Smile as big as a shark’s, and twice as dangerous. In any case, the dame on my arm that night was a quiet sort of frail. Probably would’ve been a nun in a different century or a different life. Would’ve been a helluva lot safer than whatever she did to make ends meet in this sort of town.  
  
We ended up at my apartment without bumping into a soul. It’s on the small side, not much more than a sitting room and a bedroom, with a tiny little shower that either froze you solid or boiled you alive. The little old lady who ran the place didn’t seem to mind that I was a flatfoot, so she left me alone most of the time. The other tenants were either too scared or too soused to talk to me, so I usually had plenty of time to myself. Climbing three flights of stairs kept me at fighting weight. All in all, I could’ve done worse.  
  
I opened the door, flicked on the lights, and made sure there wasn’t anyone behind the ficus waiting to brain me with a lead pipe. Don’t laugh, it’s a pretty common occupational hazard for me. Got knocked for a loop by a deliveryman once. Can’t say I enjoyed the experience, but that’s a yarn for another time.  
  
When I was sure the coast was clear, I led the dame in. “Welcome to Casa Shirogane. Make yourself at home.”  
  
“I’m sure I’ll be _very_ comfortable here, Mr. Shirogane,” said the dame knowingly.  
  
She glided into the back room uninvited, having made herself at home. I followed. “Here’s the bed. Don’t worry, I’ll sleep on the couch tonight, Miss.”  
  
“Thank you, Mr. Shirogane.” She sat down on the edge of the bed. Perched, more like it, with just a sliver of her bottom on the mattress and her knees tight together. I stood.  
  
“Do you want a drink, Miss? I could use one, myself.”  
  
She took off my suit jacket from her shoulders and smoothed it on top of the blanket. Then she flipped her long silver hair back with a snap of her head. My heart flipped a little, too.  
  
“Just some club soda if you have it, Mr. Shirogane.”  
  
“Wouldn’t figure you for a teetotaler, Miss,” I said as I fixed the drinks in the sitting room. Soda for her, ginger ale for me. I thought she wouldn’t like the smell of booze on my breath. “Or are you afraid I’m gonna slip you a mickey?”  
  
Before I went back to her, I locked up my snub-nosed .38, my wallet, and my watch in the small safe I hide in the coat closet behind some old galoshes. You can never be too sure about these modern girls.  
  
She took the highball glass I offered without hesitation and shimmied her shoulders in a way that did interesting things to the low neckline of her red silk dress and to the contents of my pants, and I’m not talking about the ticket stub from the dry cleaner’s that was in my pocket. I leaned against the door sill and downed my ginger ale in one gulp. It didn’t help.  
  
“Not at all, Mr. Shirogane, I trust you. I’ve just never much liked the taste of liquor.”  
  
“What _do_ you like, Miss?”  
  
She patted the empty spot next to her on the mattress invitingly. “Company, Mr. Shirogane. I like company.”  
  
Damn. My lumpy old sack was looking more comfortable by the second.  
  
I stood firm in the doorway. She got all misty-eyed again.  
  
“Mr. Shirogane, why won’t you sit by me? Am I...” She sniffed. “Am I too plain of a girl for you, Mr. Shirogane?”  
  
“That isn’t it, Miss, the view’s just fine to me,” I said, and my feet started moving on their own. As soon as I sat down next to her, she laid her head on my shoulder and wrapped a gloved arm around my waist.  
  
“You’re not just saying that to be polite, are you Mr. Shirogane?” she whispered.  
  
“No, Miss,” I mumbled. “You’re beautiful.”  
  
“I’m so very glad you think so, Mr. Shirogane,” she sighed contentedly. “Won’t you stay the night with me?”  
  
 _No,_ I thought. I wasn’t going to sleep with her.  
  
There’s a Code, you see, a Code of Conduct for gumshoes like me. They don’t write it down anywhere, and it’s not like there’s a union or anything, but a man’s got to have his principles. A man who sticks to his principles when the chips are down is just that, a man.  
  
Now, part of the Code is that you can seduce the duchess, but you don’t spoil the virgin. Sitting there right next to her, feeling her heat through her gown and my shirt, I was pretty sure that the dame hadn’t done anything quite like this before. She was shivering through her bravado.  
  
Aw, hell.  
  
Her hand was hot against my thigh and making a beeline up to my belt.  
  
“Mr. Shirogane...” She leaned in close and cooed into my ear. “Mr. Shirogane, you’ve been so kind to me. Let me be kind to you.”  
  
“Naoto,” I said, and was rewarded by a puzzled look on her face. “My friends call me Naoto.”  
  
She smiled, leaned in even closer, and I yielded to the inevitable.  
  
If you’ve ever wanted to be a private dick, let me be the first to tell you it’s not all champagne and roses. The pay’s lousy. Most of the time you’re out in the rain. It’s hell on the feet. You’ll be running on a liquid diet of burnt joe and sour rye. Most of the folks you meet are either trying to sham you or snuff you or both. If you like that sort of thing, you’d be better off as a bean-counter. At least you’re indoors.  
  
But when a beautiful woman kisses you full on the mouth like she means it and knows how to do it, then you tend to forget about all those other little things. A gentleman does not kiss and tell, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been a gentleman. Forgive me, Suzu.  
  
Her mouth was hot and hungry against mine. I finally understood why they called some broads “man-eaters.” I was lucky the dame didn’t swallow me up, bones and all. All I could do was ride out the storm, and I was left more than a little windswept after she finally broke away from me. I tried to reach out to her when she stood up, but the dame was slipperier than the truth. She was all smiles when she gently pushed me back down to sit on the bed.  
  
An _enka_ ballad by Misuzu Hiiragi was on the radio in the apartment below mine. The song was about someone else’s man, I think. Something sappy like that. It drifted through the floorboards and the dame mouthed the words while she slipped out of her dress: First the one arm through a strap, then the other, then a wiggle of the hips and a coy smile. Red silk pooled at her feet. She stepped out of it like Venus being born out of the sea.  
  
When the dress hit the floor, so did my jaw.  
  
The dame had marvelously pale, smooth skin. Compared to that, the silk of her gown look like burlap. Black heels and stockings and garterbelt and panties; white gloves; pale skin; long silver hair; big grey eyes: A monochrome beauty with a flash of cherry red on her lips.  
  
Lean muscle danced under that pale skin when the dame sauntered back over to me. Whatever the dame did for a living, it sure gave her a figure that Russian ballerinas wouldn’t be ashamed to call their own. Too often, skinny broads are all string and sinew, gangly and awkward; pleasant enough, but nothing to spin a yarn about.  
  
The dame was nothing like that. She was grace and poise and balance all in one lithe little package. Standing still, you got the impression that some master artisan turned her out on a lathe from exotic woods. In motion, watching her rolling hips was like going to the beach and feeling the waves crash into the shore, over and over.  
  
We kissed again. She must have taken my gaping mouth as an invitation. She ran her hands up my back. I ran my paws down her flat chest and tight belly, past lace garterbelt and under lace panties.  
  
“Please be gentle with me,” asked the dame softly when my hand brushed lightly across her hard cock.  
  
I kissed her neck in reply. She gasped a little when I carefully pulled down her panties to free the hot hardness that had strained against the lace. She seemed to melt under my touch, and settled her back against the mattress. Her hair spilled out all around her head on the pillow like a quicksilver halo.  
  
My lips kissed down her neck and onto her chest, velvet on silk. The dame straightened her legs for me, so that I could pull off her panties in one long sweep. Honestly, I was surprised she hadn’t torn through the flimsy fabric herself with her generous endowment.  
  
My own cotton briefs were well and truly soaked by this point, so I offered no complaint when the dame rolled me onto my back and started to undo my belt buckle. She seemed awfully good at it, her long, nimble fingers having no trouble shucking off my pants and socks and shoes.  
  
I couldn’t help but shiver when the dame took one of those nimble fingers and traced a hard line up along the moist front of my briefs.  
  
“Did you spill your drink, or are you just happy to see me?” she whispered mischievously.  
  
I pulled her down to me and kissed her deeply. “Ecstatic.”  
  
I was positively euphoric when the dame slipped her hand under my briefs and started to slowly trace that same shivering line again, but up against my bare, slick skin this time. Her other hand loosened my yellow tie and worked the buttons of my blue dress shirt. Concert pianists don’t use both their hands as well as the dame did that night, and I sang a little tune for her when her gloved thumb circled my pink nub. If you’ve ever slept naked between satin sheets, you’ve got a tiny inkling of how good I felt under her thumb.  
  
For a short eternity, I lost my head as easily as I lost my briefs and my shirt. The dame knew just how to push my buttons. Maybe she played the accordion in her spare time, I dunno. At any rate, she was getting good practice squeezing my box. I died the little death twice, which is a helluva lot more enjoyable than the big sleep, which you can only do once to my knowledge.  
  
The room went white, then black as the dame wrapped me around her finger. I came to when I felt her trying to loosen the _sarashi_ that keeps my chest sewn up tighter than a Scotsman’s purse. I grabbed both her wrists to put the kibosh on that.  
  
“The bindings stay on, Miss.” She obeyed, so I let her go.  
  
“Anything for you, Naoto.” Her hands moved up to hover over my head. “What about the hat?”  
  
“Whatever makes you happy.”  
  
After a moment’s hesitation, she straightened the navy blue cap on my head. “Mmm, you can leave your hat on. It suits you, Naoto.”  
  
The dame’s big grey eyes twinkled in amusement. I could understand why. The two of us made one helluva dolled up pair: She in only nylons and garterbelt and gloves, me in only wrappings and cap.  
  
“You don’t look so bad either in your Sunday best,” I said.  
  
“You’re the first man to see me like this,” she said.  
  
“You’re putting me on,” I said.  
  
She look hurt. Misery loves company, so she slapped me lightly on the cheek.  
  
“I’m not that sort of girl, Mr. Shirogane.”  
  
“What sort of girl are you, Miss Seta?”  
  
“I’m yours, Naoto.”  
  
Perfumed silver rained down on my face and neck and chest. The dame had leaned over me to kiss me again. Her liquid tresses washed over my skin and drowned me with Chanel No. 5, the smell of gold and class and longing. She had only put on a drop or two of the stuff, but it burned in my nose, hot as the tool the dame was jamming against my scalded thigh.  
  
We tussled for a bit on top of the sheets, pawing each other like lions on martyrs. She let me pin her. I stroked her hair with one hand and reached down for my trophy with the other. Her cock was heavy and hard in my hand, and the dame’s whole body stiffened when I tightened my grip.  
  
I had the tigress by the tail. According to the fortune cookies, the safest thing to do in these sorts of situations is get on top and ride it out. Good advice, in my experience. To even the odds, I reached out and fumbled with the nightstand drawer, then pulled out a pack of rubbers. Never hurts to have protection.  
  
While I tore one foil wrapper open with my teeth, I slowly stroked the dame’s cock with my free hand. I wanted to be a considerate host, though I’m not sure if you’d find that tidbit in any etiquette book. The dame had fine manners, too. She waited patiently for me to finish rolling the rubber over her throbbing bellend and down her straining shaft.  
  
When I was done, the dame shot me a come-hither look. I went. She held my waist steady as I threw a leg over her belly to straddle her. I heard a long, satisfied moan echo off the walls as I slowly sunk down around her, until she was buried up to the hilt inside me. It took me a second to realize that the dame was just smiling her Mona Lisa smile and the moan had come out of my own mouth. You might think that’s something I should’ve noticed right away, but in my defense, I’m a private eye and not an opera critic.  
  
To say that I felt full would be an insult to the dame. I’ve had ten-course dinners at the swanky inn the Amagi doll runs that didn’t stuff me to the gills the way the dame’s cock did. At first, I was feeling swell just sitting still over and around her, but something bubbled up inside me when the dame playfully brushed my nub with those clever fingers of hers. I got her meaning. I lifted myself up off of her slowly, only to slam my hips back down against hers. The dame’s back arched and she bit her lip a little.  
  
I’m not sure if anyone has ever carried a torch for me, but I can say for certain that I carried the dame’s torch inside me that night. Her hard heat flickered and flamed, melting me from the inside out. Each time I felt like I was about to get burned, I lifted off of her, but since I didn’t like feeling emptier than I usually did, I slammed back down just as quick, again and again and again. Once in a while, the dame burned me to ashes, but like a phoenix, I was reborn after every little death.  
  
After a trio of delightful all-expenses-paid round-trips to the afterlife, it finally dawned on me that the dame wasn’t coming with me. I hadn’t noticed that her hands had slid off my waist and were now grabbing tight fistfuls of the sheets, tight as her shut eyes. I guess she figured it’d make me happy if I could get off as much as I wanted through the night, but it didn’t.  
  
Don’t get me wrong, I was having a good time coming and going, but knowing that the dame felt that she couldn’t let go made me feel like a louse.  
  
I slid completely off of her. She gasped.  
  
“Is... Is something wrong, Naoto? Am I doing something wrong?”  
  
“Yeah, you are.”  
  
The dame looked like she was about to panic, so I lifted her chin a little with my thumb and trigger finger, and then I kissed her hard on the mouth. I slipped my other hand under her back and rolled us around, so that she was on top of me. I spread my legs wide for her.  
  
“Wh-What do you want me to do?” she asked.  
  
I put my mitts on the dame’s derriere. Leave it to the Greeks of antiquity to have a word to describe it: callipygian. Basically, it means that her rear was one of the nicest things I’ve ever held in my two hands. I pulled on it, bringing her in close to me.  
  
“Come for me, Suzu. I want you to come.”  
  
The dame’s big grey eyes never left mine as she filled me up with her hard heat again. Those eyes were smoldering and steady even while she pounded my snatch as hard as a heavyweight haymaker and as fast as a flyweight jab. If you want to be a shamus, you’ve got to expect to take a beating every now and again, and boy, was the dame laying it on me heavy. She nailed me with that one-two combination a couple of dozen times. Call me a masochist, but I loved every second of it.  
  
I started seeing stars, which was a surprise to me since I wasn’t sure when the landlady had installed a planetarium in my bedroom. The dame knocked the wind out of me over and over. I laid up against the ropes and took it. A fella with more concern for self-preservation might’ve thrown in the towel, but I could tell by the dame’s huffing and puffing that the house was coming down any second.  
  
She pulled out of me and wound up for the knockout punch. I dropped my guard. She put it right on the button and rang my bell. I was out for the count. The last thing I remember seeing before I stopped seeing anything at all was the dame’s face light up like she found religion. She sang out a few quick Hallelujahs and then went limp. I couldn’t blame her. Sermons always had the same effect on me.  
  
The dame had fallen on top of me. I had fallen for her.  
  
I held her tight in my arms. I never wanted to let go, of her or that night. Who knew what tomorrow would bring? Would the dame ever again kiss me gently while I stroked her back, like we did then in the afterglow before dawn? Would we end up as chalk outlines in some foggy alley? Would the dame board a train for the city one day and leave me with nothing but a goodbye and a broken heart?  
  
All I knew for certain that night was that we fell asleep to the most beautiful lullaby in the world.  
  
“I love you, Naoto.”  
  
“I love you, Souji.”  
  
\---  
  
After school the next day, I was too tired to notice that Rise had snuck up behind me while I was opening my shoe locker. She giggled a little when I jumped up in the air at the sudden sound of her voice.  
  
“Hey Naoto-kun, something wrong? It’s not like you to doze off in class.”  
  
“It’s nothing to worry about, Rise. I was up late last night, that’s all.”  
  
“Working on a case?”  
  
“No, Souji-senpai was over at my apartment and... um... I’ve said too much.”  
  
“Oh, you two were playing cops and robbers?” she teased.  
  
I blushed. “Something like that.”  
  
 _Fin_


End file.
